This Shouldn't Have Been So Funny

I had a group of 3 and 4 year olds from the on-campus day care center today. When kids this age come, they often want to tell me about their pets or toys or something they had recently done. This group was no exception.

I have slides of the planets set up, and can turn them on individually until I get past Saturn. Uranus, Neptune and Pluto are all on one switch -- I turn all three on at once (when I set it up, I had basically run out of switches).

Uranus and Neptune are right next to each other -- basically like this:


When I got to this point one kid excitedly wanted to tell me something. "Ooh! OOooooh!" he was yelling.

"Is there something you wanted to tell me?" I asked.

"Yeah!" he said.

"What is it?"

"Those two planets...!" he started.

"Uranus and Neptune?" I pointed at them with my laser pointer.

"Yeah! I have balls like that!"

I almost wet myself.

He did go on to explain about his set of blue balls, but I had to hum a tune in my head to block it out, because my 8th grade sense of humor was rioting out of control.


I am a sick, sick person. But, really, it was funny, especially since it was so completely unexpected.

I had a camp group today. They are always tricky, because they bring vast age ranges. The kids today were between 5 and 13 years old. That is a HUGE range.

This group was actually quite good for a camp group. They shouted out questions on occasion, but they were appropriate and rare. And that's fine by me -- it can actually enhance the program.

After I showed some constellation pictures, one of the younger kids yelled out a question. It was kind of muffled, and had a kid accent, so what I heard him say was, "How goes the parables?"

"What was that?" I asked.

"How old are the animals?" he asked. Well, that was a little better of a question.

"Oh!" I felt relieved, "those constellation shapes have been around for thousands of years." I knew he'd be impressed.

"Nuh-uh," he said.

My brain started shuddering: Nuh-uh? NUH-UH? What do you mean 'Nuh-uh?!' How could this go wrong?? It was very simple... OK, brain, we can handle this. Let's work it out...

"Seriously!" I told him, "Most of those pictures were thought up by people a couple thousand years ago!"

"Oh," the kid said. "But how OLD are they?"

Kids. They will put me in a little white coat with straps on the sleeves.

"Thousands of years!" My voice had taken on a sad, whiny quality.

"Nope," the kid said, "cuz they'd be dead."

It is never good when the conversation turns to death. I thought I might get out of this now, though...

"Well, they're not real," I said. "They're just pretend pictures."

"They'd still be dead," he said.

"They're made up pictures. Like a dot-to-dot picture you draw! They're not alive," I felt proud at the comparison.

"So they're dead," he said confidently. OK, maybe I should have left off the 'they're not alive' part.

"Not really. They're not alive OR dead. They're just make-believe." MAKE-BELIEVE!! I'm pretty sure I haven't used that term in 25 years. I hoped that would be the end of it.

"So why are they in heaven? They must be dead," he said it quietly, with a tone that indicated reverence for the deceased.

The only worse that the conversation turning to death is when it turns to religion. And with all the evidence to the contrary, I do know when I'm beaten.

"I'm not quite sure," I said.

I hate it when I fail in a battle of wits with a 5 year-old.


Although I don't have much to compare it to: I don't know what it feels to WIN in a battle of wits with a 5 year-old. Someday.


Someday.

Out of Bounds

We are doing a College for Kids program this week. I have done week-long classes for these kids at least 3 times, and this has to be the last time.

I kind of hoped this week would be a good one, but that was just silly.

I came in the beginning of this week super-cranky. This is not a good way to start, and I may have been a little rough at the beginning.

The first class starts at 9:00. I came in at 8:30, and tried to shuffle some things together. Five minutes after I arrived, one of the people working for the College for Kids program knocked on my door. I frantically waved her in...

"What do you want the kids to do?" she asked me. (Remember, class starts in TWENTY FIVE MINUTES.)

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Do you just want them to wait outside the Planetarium?" she asked.

"As opposed what?" I asked, quite annoyed.

"Well, I wasn't sure what you wanted to do while they were waiting," she said. She appeared to have noticed my annoyance.

"I don't really care what they do right now, I'll worry about them in 25 minutes," I said.

"OK," and she left.

I felt kind of bad about being so cranky. I'm usually not that rude. But I am just the teacher from 9:00 to 10:30! Outside of that, I can't be responsible for those demons! I have trouble enough during the class...


I should really have some coffee before I talk to people in the morning.

Tautologically Speaking

I had a birthday party earlier this week. If you've read this blog before, you know that birthday parties are the bane of my existence.

This was a largeish group -- 25 kids, 25 adults -- for a 5 year old's birthday. They were as rowdy as usual. They had just come from having cake in the cafeteria, so the sugar rush was in full effect.

They adults wrangled the kids into the dome and seats. I turned to the mother and asked, "Is everyone in?" She told me, "Yes."

So, I started to bring the lights down, and doing my talkies when two guys came into the room. Of course, they couldn't be part of this party, since I had just confirmed that everyone was in.

So I galloped over to the door, and asked the guys what they were doing. "We're here for the show."

"This is a private party," I told them.

"I know," one of the guys said, "It's for my son."

What the hell?

I turned to the Mom, "I thought you said everyone was in?! The kid's father wasn't even in!"

"OH! When you asked me before, I thought you were just talking about the people in the room," she told me.

Blink.

Blink. Blink.


So, in case you are keeping score, she thought I was asking if the people in the room were all in the room.

The headache began right then.

Trumped!

I have almost always started my shows with an, "Are you guys ready?!" It seems to get them all psyched up, and also focused on the fact that we are about to begin.

Lately, after that question...

    ["Are you guys ready?!?!"
    "YEAH!"]

... I have added this question: "Am I ready?!?!"

They usually all yell back -- "YEAH!!"

I then look at them quizzically and say, more quietly, and slightly accusingly, "How would you know that?" It sometimes makes them laugh, but always makes me laugh, which is much more important. It's like I've won some weird game of Simon Says that my opponents didn't realize they were playing.

Anyway, I just had a group of mainly 8 and 9 year olds. I started the same way:

    "...you guys ready?!"
    "YEAH!!"
    "Am I ready?!?"
    "YEAH!!!!"

    Quizzically, I said: "How would you know that?!?"

I was ready to start laughing inside when one kid replied without hesitation:
    "Cuz you're wearing a tie!!"

Touché.

8 year old: 1.
Astronomer: zero.

The Literal Group

Well, it's been four months since I've posted anything. (I am slapping my own knuckles with a ruler.) Sorry.

Today I had a group from a camp. They are always QUITE rowdy, and this group was no exception. They did have a sort of sarcastic savvy that made me laugh a few times.

The show ended with a perfect example of their style -- At the end of most shows, a teacher or responsible adult will question/command the crowd: "What do you say to the nice astronomer?" And they all, of course, respond with a resounding "Thank you!"

For this group, one of the counselors yelled to them: "Say 'Thank you!', please."

Sixty-some-odd campers ALL said, in unison, "Thank you, please!"

It's going to be a long summer.

The Zen of Discipline

I had a group of Kindergarten kids on Friday. I swear they seem younger every time I see them.

The kids seemed pretty good, just a little chatty as they got settled. I stepped up to introduce myself, and start the program. One of the teachers saw that I was doing that, and stepped up also to quiet the kids down.

She said to them, "OK, kids. The man needs to hear your quiet now."

'Hear your quiet??' Does quiet make a sound? It seemed like a terribly odd turn of phrase, especially directed at grammar-molding children.


Now that they've left, do I see their disappearance?

The New Science.

I had one of my favorite groups come back! The Kent Place school is a private school for girls, and they always bring the smartest 4th graders I get to see. I actually made sure I didn't schedule a show directly after them because they ALWAYS have question -- good questions.

We were talking about a mission called Deep Impact which is going to use an 800 pound bullet to blow a giant hole in the side of a comet. There are ALWAYS questions about this mission, and this group certainly had a bunch of questions.

Usually, I get asked about if the bullet will knock the comet off course. (It will not.)

One of these girls asked that question, and I answered like I usually do: "This comet will be large enough that the 800 pound bullet will have the same effect as a mosquito hitting the windshield of a car. If a mosquito hits the windshield, does the car slow down?"

"NO!" they all yell back. Which is what I expect.

"Actually, that's not true... the car DOES slow down. It HAS TO. Ever action has an equal and opposite reaction. The car slows down, but it does so immeasurably. It will be similar with the comet. It will slow down a miniscule bit. Like the car does -- almost not at all. But the car does have to slow down. That's physics."

I then stood there proudly grinning as that set in, content that I have transferred a tiny bit of knowledge.

The girl who asked the question was really thoughtful for a second, and then asked, "Well, what if physics is wrong?"

Wow. Brilliant. "That's possible," I told her. "We're still learning about the universe around us -- we've made physics to help us explain things. And sometimes we're wrong."

She just grinned at me and nodded at me with an expression that indicated she knew that's where the conversation would end -- it looked content that she had transferred to me a tiny bit of knowledge.

No New Tale to Tell.

Yesterday I had a 5th grade group from a local Catholic school. I remembered this group from last year because they had asked specifically for stuff about using the sky for navigation, like Columbus did in 1492.

I moved the sky to the Southeastern US, and showed how the North Star can be used to both show the direction of North, and how its height above the horizon also indicates how far North you are. This year, I decided to go further, and show them how navigation is different in the southern hemisphere (no "South Star", for example).

I had some stuff set up with some African myths related to the night sky, and told the story of Tutlwa, the giraffe, who helps the Venda know when to plant crops.

At the end of the show, one of the parents came up to me and said, "I was here last year, and I was SO hoping you would tell the giraffe story again. It's my favorite. And I brought my son" (she pointed at a 4ish-year old next to her) "and even dressed him in a giraffe shirt!" This was indeed, the case.

The problem with her statement: I MADE THAT STORY UP 2 WEEKS AGO. It doesn't exist. It's fake. There IS a Tutlwa constellation related to a giraffe, BUT I MADE UP THE STORY. I used the picture as a springboard to make up a Kipling-esque story about the giraffe having a short neck, and how it got long -- it was a cute story, but it's a pretty recent invention.

It was so strange. And I'm quite sure I've NEVER told any other story related to giraffes.

It's freaking me out just a little bit.

Heaven is a place near Earth.

I had a group of very small children today. It was a nursery school, so they were between 3 and 5 years old. They were a little too excited about the laser pointer, but they settled down after a little while.

I spend much of my time with this age group talking about how different the moon and the planets are from the Earth. We started with the moon. After talking about a couple lunar features, I asked...

"Could we live on the moon?"

"NO!" They all cheerily announced.

"Why not?" I asked.

I got very quiet. They just sat there. I was about the put them out of their misery when a small girl timidly suggested, "Because God lives there...?"

You never know what a kid this age is going to come out with. I figured I would investigate further...

"God lives on the moon...?" I asked her.

"I think so," she told me.

"So why couldn't we live there, too?" I asked.

"He's a big man," she told me.


"Oooh." I let it go at that.

"There are emergency exits in the Southeast and Southwest sides of the room..."

Every year, a temple comes to the Planetarium to celebrate a Havdala service. (I hope I spelled that correctly.) They have done this for many years -- since before I worked here. In fact, Jennifer, an ex-Planetarium director, comes to perform most of the science end of the program. The rabbi and other members of the temple do parts of the program, as well.

Basically, a 'standard' program is done, about stars and planets and stuff, and then the religious folks come in and talk about how it relates to the Jewish faith, and then an actual service happens. Part of which is the lighting of a big candle.

This ALWAYS makes me nervous. It's big and smoky. I am always afraid that the sprinklers are going to kick in.

The rabbi, David, lit the candle this year, as he always does. My gut clenched up, like it always does.

I need to set a little bit of the scene now: He is on one end of the room, standing behind a lab table. I am on the opposite side of the room behind the control panel. On the table is the lit candle.

Rabbi David says, "Wow! I bet this would look great in the middle of the room." To me, he calls, "Would it be OK if I moved the candle to the middle of the room?"

I yelled across to him, "I guess so. We've never done it before, but we can try." I actually thought this might be better -- in the middle of the room, the ceiling is WAY up there, nice and far away from the flame. "Before you do, I want to remind everyone that there are exits on both sides of the room." Everyone got a chuckle at this, which is what I intended.

So David picked up the tray with the lit candle, turned to carry it around the table, and the candle tumbled right off the tray he was holding. I watched it disappear behind the table.

The next thing I see is David and another person stomping away behind the table. I just put my head in my hands -- I couldn't watch.

(Damage report: There was not much -- it appears that they just managed to scrunch some melted wax into the carpet.)

David then says, "I think maybe I'll just keep the candle up here."

"I like that idea," I told him.

Holey moley, it's been nearly 2 months since I've been here in Blogland. Things have happened. I have not recorded them. I have forgotten most of it.

I feel bad. That stuff is gone forever.

So now I must get back into it!

And so, welcome back.

--"You are all individuals!"
--"We are all individuals!!"

--"I'm not."

It's funny, the group that came today seemed so sweet and nice and good. They were in 3rd grade, and they marched down the hill in chilly weather on silent feet; little 3rd grade mouses, they were.

I thought, This is going to wonderful. Good kids. Quiet kids. Listening kids.

They remained quiet as I introduced them to myself and the building and we got into the Planetarium.

As soon as the lights started going down, apparently the Ritalin wore off. They went from civilized to feral in the blink of an eye. I have no idea what triggered them, but they were turning upside down in the seats and all talking at once. It was very odd.

When we got to full dark, a couple of the girls started shrieking. I can put up with a lot (I can!! Stop laughing!!), but not shrieking. Ow. I just sat there with my head down for a moment waiting for the screeching to cease.

It did. Eventually.

So then I started talking about the stars and constellations. I often start with the North Star (Polaris), and the Little and Big Dippers. I pointed out Polaris and stated that it was in the Little Dipper.

Before I could even indicate what I meant by that or put up a picture or anything...

"I SEE IT!" One kid yelled out, and at full volume.

Immediately all the other kids had to prove that they saw it, too. A cacophony of "I SEE IT! I SEE IT!" rose up in the room. Mob mentality is an amazing thing. Once they all had their scream out, and a second of quiet had passed, one lonely, quiet voice said, "I don't see it."

This was the voice of honesty, and I respected him for it.


This went on for the rest of the show -- "Up in this area is Pegasus."

"I SEE IT! I SEE IT! I SEE IT!" went the chorus.

"You know, I just don't see it," chimed the voice of honesty.


It made me laugh a couple of times.


As an afterward: When I talked about the planets I mentioned that an atmosphere is sort of an invisible blanket around the planet... when I said that, one kid yelled, "I SEE IT!" But this time he was alone. At least some kids were listening when I used words like 'invisible'.

Too old to get it.

I am just not fit to deal with 4 year olds! I know I've always complained about them and complained about complaining about them, but they are simply too young for me to understand.

Example: Yesterday I had a group of 4 year old kids. I did the whole program -- moon, stars, constellations, planets -- and went to the usual Q & A at the end. They often ask incomprehensible questions; I kind of expect it.

One girl hand her hand up, and I asked if she had a question.

"Nope," she told me.

"OK," I said, and went to look for another hand.

Her hand goes up again.

"Did you think of a question?" I asked.

"Nope!" she said, in a happy way.

I began to turn away again, when she said, "Wait!"

"What is it?" I asked.

"I have to tell you something," she said. It made sense now.

"What's that?" I asked her.

"I have a joke," she proudly beamed.

"Is it about space?" I asked.

"Yes!" she told me.

All right! I thought. A joke! Now we're getting somewhere. It's always good to have extra material.

"What's the joke," I excitedly prompted.

"Why did Mickey go to Pluto?"

"I don't know..." I was ready for the bang up punchline... this is going to be good.

"To see his dog Pluto!" she finished with a flourish of her hands; the gesture said 'Taa-dah!'.


There were crickets chirping in my head.


"Ohhhh," I nodded, trying to fake a laugh, failing horribly. She looked a little hurt that I did not wet my pants at this tremendously humorous joke.


I just don't get little kid jokes.

I just don't get little kids.

Energy Thief, the Hunter.

I was performing a program for some 3rd grade students yesterday. I was showing them some constellations (Cygnus, Pegasus), and was leading up to the one that most kids know: Orion.

I used my usually intro -- "This is a pretty well known constellation [I point it out]; he's the hunter, and he's wearing a very well-known belt.... does anyone know what it is?"

Usually a bunch of 3rd graders are familiar with Orion's Belt.

After a very slight pause, one kid yelled out "Enron!"

"What was that?" I asked.

"Enron!" he told me again.

"Actually," I hesitantly corrected him, "It's Orion."

"Oh, right," he said.


What an odd news corporate culture mental crossover!

Damp.

It's raining. It is raining pretty hard I must admit.

My morning program cancelled. BECAUSE OF THE RAIN. They didn't want to walk to little childrens out in the rain. Here's a thing: If they are too young to handle RAIN, they're likely too young to come to the Planetarium.

Rain.

Sheesh.

I really can't complain; that knocks me down to 2 shows for the day instead of three. Bonus! And anytime 3 year olds decide NOT to come is a good thing.

Be prepared.

I had a group of 3rd graders here a little while ago. There was about 60 of them. And as they were coming down the hill I noticed that EVERY one of them was holding a book. All the books were different -- I noticed everything from Judy Blume to Shel Silverstein to Captain Underpants, but they all had one.

I asked the teacher why they all had a book, and she said, "Well, we weren't sure if we would have to wait when we got here, so we made sure that everyone brought a book to keep them busy."

This woman is AWESOME. What a great idea. It's something I do whenever I go anywhere, but I never expected a teacher to expect her 3rd graders to do the same! Wonderful.

As they were entering the room, one kid said, "Oh, cool!" as expected, but then went on to say, "this looks just like home!"

His house has circular flip-down seating for 80 and a giant robotic projector in the center?! Wow.

They were actually a rather excited group. I started the day with a headache, and they did nothing to relieve it, but since they came prepared, I didn't really care that much. And they were excited about the astronomy. It would have been nicer if they sat quietly instead of screaming throughout, surely, but at least they weren't making stale jokes about Uranus.

I'll take what I can get.

Don't come late.

I had 3 public shows this weekend, and 2 of them actually sold out. Yeeps. Why do people keep coming back?! I really am flabbergasted that people keep showing up.

Anyhoo, the 1:00 program was one that was sold out. I got back to my office and had the following note tucked under the door:

To the Planetarium --
We had reservations for the 1:00 pm show. The original reservation was under Professor Applequist. I phoned and requested an additional ticket for a wheelchair patron. We were here at 1:00. The doors were locked. I do not expect to pay for these tickets nor have Professor Applequist pay either.
-- Professor Montana

Hilarious, for so many reasons.

First, when I got out of the program, Tom, one of the maintenance fellows here, saw me come out of the room, and said, "Chris, man, you had some pissed off people here before."

I asked him to elucidate... He told me, "Some people came in after the show started. They yelled something me about the 1:00 show. I didn't know anything about it, I said, 'It's only five after one, try the door.' but it was apparently locked."

I was locked. I didn't even close the door until 1:05, so they were LYING when they said they were here at 1:00. Once the show starts, though, the door gets locked. Period. It's dark in there. Too dark to see. If you come in late you ruin the show for everyone in there, including me. This is why they don't let you in late to Broadway shows -- you are a distraction and a nuisance.

Even funnier is the "I don't expect to pay for these tickets" part. You won't have to pay because you weren't here before the cash register got put away! Dope.

And I'm wondering why Professor Applequist, who did show up on time, didn't mention anyone else coming. Maybe they weren't surprised that you were here on time -- maybe they were happy about it.

Probably not -- I'm just supposing here -- but who knows...

Call 911.

The other day, while I was cutting some papers with an X-acto knife, I slipped and almost cut off the front of the index finger of my left hand. I sliced about a 1/2 inch into it -- if I had gone another 1/8 inch, that chunk would have been detached from my body.

So what does this have to do with the Planetarium? I'll get there.

I had it bandaged for a while, but it wouldn't dry out while being bandaged, so I decided to go unbandaged for the day. It basically was staying closed, and seemed to have scabbed up nicely. I would just be careful.

I had two shows today, and at the end of the first, the kids were asking their questions. One kid asked about how a star forms. I usually use bubble wrap to try to illustrate it. I mention that they should imagine the bubbles are gas atoms, and gravity holds them in a ball (I ball up the bubble wrap), and if the gravity gets strong enough it starts a nuclear explosion (I wring the bubble wrap making a great popping cacophony!). They kind of get it, usually...

I decided to do the same thing. With great flair, I produced the bubble wrap, and wrung it out! As it popped, the stress of the wringing shifted the skin around my fingers. I felt the scab give way, and looked down to see the left side of my hand turning red. I was gushing blood. I headed behind the control panel to where I have paper towels, but some kids gasped as they noticed the blood flow. One of the teachers saw it, too, and just looked at me, wide-eyed.

"No more questions," I said quietly. The teacher who saw my bleeding started laughing.

She escorted them out as I tried to dig a Band-Aid out of my pocket, without bleeding on my pants too much.

Any day that starts with uncontrolled bleeding cannot turn out too good.

The Generosity of Some People.

I had a message on my machine from a woman who wanted a birthday party for her 5 year old son.

The message had a part which stated, "Of course, I'd be willing to pay for everyone."

Wow. You'd actually PAY for the program. That's so swell.

I just don't understand sometimes.

Watch it Wiggle.

Last week I had a group of special ed kids. They are always my favorite! They have an honest appreciation and a simple sort of wisdom that I never see anywhere else. This time I was not disappointed...

I was talking about the gas planets, and mentioning that they have no solid surface. I often describe them as 'big, thick, round clouds in outer space.' It's not a perfect description, but it gets them understanding the fact that we can see it's shape, but still could not stand on it!

At the end of the show, one girl was asking about that. She asked if you would fly right through a planet like you would a cloud. I told her, "No. The gravity is WAY too strong. You would get stuck in the body of a planet like Jupiter. You'd really become part of the body of Jupiter."

"Oh," she said, "so it's really more like Jell-o."

My eyes lit up. "YES! Exactly!" Actually Neptune's body is so cold it's probably sort of coagulated gases... kind of like Jell-o! Amazing. I was thrilled. "That's a great analogy," I told her.

"Thanks!" she said, obviously pleased with herself.

"Can I use it?" I asked her.

"Use it for what?" she said.

"Use it in my shows? Can I tell people that the gassy planets are kind of like Jell-o?"

She looked confused. "Why couldn't you?"

"Well, it was YOUR idea, and I didn't want to use it without your permission," I told her.

She thought about it for a minute... "I give you permission," she told me, nodding.


These kids are awesome.

Remember me?

It's been over a month. Sorry. I've felt lazy, and not much has happened. BUT I'M BACK, BABY!! I'll try to be better.


I was just putting entering some reservations into my calendar. There is a guy who is teaching 6th grade science, and bringing his class. Here's what he wants me to cover:

"Genral over view of a intro to Astronomy." [sic]

Holey moley.

AND, under method of transportation is says: "Bass". I guess he's riding a fish here.


I wonder if I will survive this school year with my brain unexploded.

I had a day camp group on Tuesday. Yep, a camp group on the day after labor day. Weird.

Apparently their school is under construction, so they won't be starting school for another 3 weeks. Dang.

Now, I don't know if the kids are getting worse, or I am just burning out, but these kids were pretty awful. They really did not seem to want to be cooped up in a dark room for an hour.

I knew it was going to be bad from the start. The behavior of the adults and chaperones is always a good indication of how bad a show will go. This is a good example of how people just hear what they want to hear --

The head counselor came up and said, "When I called they said that you only have 80 seats. Well, I have 86 people, is that going to be a problem?"

I said, "How could it not be?"

"Oh, good," she said, visibly relieved.

I had no response.


They packed into the Planetarium, and that same head counselor asked if they should go to the bathroom if they need to before we begin.

"It's not a bad idea," I said. "They can't go once the program gets going."

She yelled to the group -- "Does anyone need to use the bathroom? You have to go now!"

75 of the 86 got up to go. Each of the bathrooms have 2 stalls.

20 minutes later they were back.


The group had a wide variety of ages, some as young as five, and as old as 15.

As it was getting darker, some of them were asking some questions. One little girl had her arm up, with her hand flapping nervously. I asked her if she had a question. She nodded and asked, "Are we all gonna die?"

Why would a 5 year old think like this? I assured her that we would all likely survive, that we had had no fatalities in my tenure as astronomer as of yet.

She seemed unconvinced.

OK, it's been weeks and WEEKS since I've been here. Sorry.

September is kind of a light month, too. BUT, I will certainly be getting back into the swing soon. Stay tuned, my patient minions.

What planet is this, anyway?

I had a group of tiny ones again today. There is a day care right on campus, and they stopped by.

They had been talking about space and science in day care, so I figured I'd test their knowledge before I got going...

"For part of today we're going to talk about planets. We live on a planet. Does anyone know what planet we live on?"

It was quiet for a moment, until on boy yelled out, "Jupiter!"

"Jupiter is a planet, but we live on a different one. What planet do we live on?"

It was quiet again. A girl got an excited look on her face and yelled out, "New Jersey!"

Urf.


After I cleared up the name of our planet, I went on and told them to watch the ceiling to see our fake sky appear. I told them they would see the moon, and some stars.

As it got darker, I asked, "Has anyone seen anything, yet?"

One kid told me, "I seen the moon!!" And he pointed at it.

"Has anyone seen anything else?"

Another kid: "I seen Spiderman 2!"

"That's great," I said.


An aside: One of the chaperones (so she had to be either a teacher OR a mother) had on an extra-tight red t-shirt which simply said: "maybe if you ask nice" printed across the front. I thought it slightly inappropriate for pre-school chaperone wear. Maybe it's just me.

It's been a while since I've contributed... sorry about that for any of my regular readers.

It has been a crazy week. The first program this week was for a group of 35 four-year-old autistic kids. Now I LOVE having special needs kids in there, usually, but I really think that this was not an appropriate group for the Planetarium.

As they were coming into the room, a few kids threw themselves to the floor screaming, "NoNoNoNoNo...No...No....NOOOOO!" The parents just basically dragged them in.

As the lights started to go down, there was a bunch of muttering and humming. There was a kid right next to me whose wail had a volume was in opposite proportion to the amount of light in the room -- the light dimming exactly matched his getting louder and louder. And it was a steady yell. I figured, "Hey, he can't keep this up for much longer. He'll pass out." I was so wrong. He had a steady, "AOOOOOUUUUUUuuuuuu" howl going on for at least 5 minutes. I leaned down to the parent whose lap he was sitting on and said, "You can take him outside. It's unlocked. You can come back in if he calms down."

She told, "Oh, no, he's fine."

He doesn't sound 'fine'!!!!

A bunch of other kids joined the screaming meemie chorus.

I tried to talk over it, but it was pretty futile. I basically just showed a bunch of slides. It made no sense for me to talk.

Through the screaming, I did hear some comments of adults to the kids... and I jotted a couple of them down.

One parent said, "Eddie!! Just because it's dark in here doesn't mean your supposed to be naked!"

...and about one second later...

"And, Timmy, no tickling Eddie!"

And, in what I believe to be a completely unrelated incident, "Rachel, that's not for eating."


I limped through the rest of the program. People wandered in and out of the room, so the darkness was destroyed by lights from the hallway on a regular basis. My headache was building the whole time... after what seemed like 3 weeks, I turned the lights up and dismissed the group. I was sitting at the control panel, forehead on my hands, a beaten man. One of the adults came up to me: "Excuse me?" she said. I looked up, bloodshot eyes blinking, ready for some suggestion on how I should have handled this differently and waiting for her to wonder why I stopped talking at times, or possibly yelling at me for letting all the screaming happen.

What she actually said was: "That was a wonderful show! Thank you so much!"

Say what? Good show? Was she in the same room?! I just sort of blinked at her. She smiled and moved on.

After her, a bunch of other parents came up to me with a level of gratitude and adoration that made it seem as if I had given each of them a million dollars. It was so strange.

I wonder what a BAD day is like.

Mynah boy.

I had a group of 5 to 8 year olds yesterday afternoon. It was a small group, only about 15 kids. There was one boy, on the younger end of the range, who seemed really excited. He was sitting in his chair bouncing, as he was waiting for me to begin. Just bouncing.

He seemed like a "normal" kid to me -- just rather excited. I wouldn't have thought he had any diagnosed mental condition, but as the show proceeded, I think he might. (I'm not belittling the kid -- if you know me at all, you know the kids/adults with disabilities are my favorites.)

During the program, whenever anyone would make a comment he would repeat the end of it, almost with the exact tone as the person who said it.

At one point, one kid mentioned, "That's pretty awesome."

"...awesome," this kid said, one second later, like an echo. Or perhaps more like a parrot, or a mynah bird.


A little later somebody muttered, "that was so cool."

"...so cool," the Mynah Boy repeated.


It was actually kind of a cool effect in the Planetarium. There's an echo in there anyway, and he just added on to it. It didn't bother me at all, which is a little surprising, since I hadn't been having the best day.


At the end of the show, I asked if he liked the show. He just sat there, still bouncing in his chair, staring at me with what was the most sincere smile I ever saw.

"Did you like it?" I asked again.

Bounce. Bounce. Bounce.

"What was your favorite part?"

Bounce. Bouncebouncebounce. Grin. Smile. Bounce.


I decided a different tactic: "I liked doing the show. I think that stuff is pretty awesome."

"Awesome!" he agreed.


So, he wasn't going to answer questions, but I could say a statement and he would agree. My ego, for a moment, thought it might be a good idea to just give myself a rave review of my own show and hear him repeat it back to me. I decided that it would be mean to use the kid for my own butt-kissing yes-man.


"Did everybody have fun?" I asked the group right before they left. Everyone answered "YEAH!". Except for Mynah Boy.

I went over and leaned down and said, "Wow. I sure had fun."

"Fun!" he told me. Bounce.Bounce.Bounce.


Even though it was my own word, it was one of the best reviews I ever had.

Year End Stats.

Today officially ends my fiscal year.

For 2003-2004:

331 shows.
14711 attendees.



Yowza.

The trouble with kiddles.

The second show I did today was for a group called the Children's Center. The kids were between 5 and 11 yrs old. That's a big spread -- there is a HUGE difference between 5 years old and 11 years old.

I did a pretty generic program for them... they seemed happy. At the end when I asked if there were any questions, about 80% of them put their hands up. When the other 20% saw the hands up, they joined in, as well.

So I called on the first kid, and he got up out of his seat, walked over to me, and stood RIGHT NEXT TO ME (I swear his toes were touching mine), and looked straight up at me and asked a question about a planet. I really don't remember the question, and basically didn't even hear it because I was so freaked out by his actions. I just stood there with my mouth agape, slightly, and after a second or two of my silence, he asked his question again... I didn't hear it the second time either. I just stammered out a freakish, "Um. I don't know."

"Oh, OK," he said.

And he stayed right where he was.

"Anything else??" I waveringly asked.

"Nope," he told me, still as a statue.

I called on the next kid, and HE GOT UP and stood right next to me. SO now I had a SECOND kid right up against me.

In a few moments, I basically had ALL THE KIDS surrounding me, all shouting questions at the same time. I have never been so freaked out in my life. And I had some giant prehistoric looking cricket in my bathroom last week.

I just whipped my head from side to side, eyes wide, unable to answer the questions, unable to move. After what seemed like twenty minutes of this hell, one of the teacher/chaperones grabbed a couple kids at the outside of the mob, and started to lead them away to the exit.

I still feel a bit oogy.

I'm back!

Well, it's hard to actually get back to work, but I suppose I must do this.

I have 2 programs today... should give me a hearty jolt of reality.

Before I go do those....

This is a message for someone named Stephanie Johnson: you left a very nice voice mail message for me, but if you want to return your call, as requested, you'll have to leave your phone number. Thanks.

Two more weeks off.

There has been a dearth of Blog entries recently. I apologize. AND....

....I'm taking the rest of this week and all of next week off.

Official Blogging Vacation begins....




.......NOW.

The multipurpose room.

I had a group of Kidergarten students this afternoon... they had not sent in their reservation form, which isn't terribly unusual, but I wasn't sure what they had covered in their class, and what they might want me to cover. I DID know that they had called and left a message stating that they HAD TO be done fifteen minutes early. It was EXTREMELY important that the main part of the program was over and the lights were back on FIFTEEN MINUTES early. Often, they need to be back for the buses, or something of that sort, so it wasn't too odd to hear that.

Until I found out why.

They arrived, and I asked what they wanted discussed, since I had no idea.


"It doesn't matter," the teacher told me.

"Doesn't matter? What do you mean?" I asked.

"Whatever you want to talk about is fine."

I've ranted about this before. Just pick something. Make it seem like you care to be here a little. BUT, it was a Kindergarten group, so I understand how it might not matter; they're 5 years old. Whatever I talk about will be fine...

"All that matters," she continued, "is that you are done AT LEAST 15 minutes early."

"Oh, yeah," I said, "I got you message. Got to get back for the buses?" I asked it almost rhetorically, assuming that was the reason.

"Oh, no," she told me.

"Oh, then why is it so important for you to get done early?" I asked.

"We thought it would be great for us to do the class pictures here!" she said proudly.

I felt physically ill. I know there is no reason for this, but I was personally offended. Let's recap: She doesn't care what I say, as long as I shut up in time for her to take pictures of the kids. Why do the show at all? Just take your pictures and go away.

So, I did the program, and got done early, as requested. As soon as the lights came up, she lined the kids up against the wall. She used her spit to straighten their hair and desmudge their faces, and two of the people in the audience who I assumed to be chaporones got out their fancy digital cameras. Then they had each end of the line of kids stand in front of a poster (one was a quarter moon, the other was M51, a galaxy), and get their picture taken one at a time.

Then they had each of the classes stand in front of the machine and have a class picture done. The kids robotically did as they were told, and then the entourage left. It seemed that they had already forgotten a program had even happened.


Well, it was 15 minutes where I didn't have to talk, so I should at least just be thankful for that.

What IS real?

I had a group of preschool kids here yesterday. I was in a great state of I-really-don't-want-to-deal, and it sort of made for a better program.

The 4 year olds were crawling all over the seats just like they ALWAYS do, and I knew I needed to get them to do some participation. So, as we talked about constellations, I would drop hints on what the shape or animal was going to be, and they would should guesses until we got it right.

Me: "This next one is an animal...."

Them:"A FROG!!" "A BEAR!!" "A CAT!!!"

Me: "....it's got a mane..."

Them: "A HORSE!!" "A LION!!"

Me: "YES!! It's a lion!" And then I'd put up a picture of Leo.


Even the adults (there were 15 in the room) were getting into it. So much so that they stopped thinking.

I had a woman next to me who was really into it. She was shouting as much as the kids and seemed just giddy when she'd guess right.

One time she was a little off the mark... I was about to show them Draco the Dragon.

Me: "This is another animal..."

Them: "A DOG!!" "A PIG!!"

Me: "... actually it's a FAKE animal. A PRETEND animal..."

And the woman next to me guessed: "A TURTLE!"

I stopped. I turned to her.

Me: "A turtle?? Did you say a turtle??"

The Woman: "YEAH! TURTLE!"

Me: "Turtles are real."

The Woman: "So it's not a turtle?" She seemed genuinely disappointed.

Me: "Nope. NOT a turtle. It's a PRETEND animal." Directed back to the rest of the room: "It breathes fire..."

The Woman: "A fire-breathing turtle!!"


I think she was joking around, but I just can't be sure.

Good.

Oh my goodness. I had a 3rd grade group yesterday, and they were... good.

Really good.

It was a good group. They WERE here 25 minutes early, but they used the bathroom during that time and waited patiently until I was ready to let them in. They were in the hallways for a while, and they were good.

They came in and sat down in a good fashion. The show was good. They were quiet when they were supposed to be, participated when they were supposed to, and laughed and clapped in respective fashion when appropriate. It was good.

It was a good show.


Wait a minute: I just checked -- I've done 750 shows, and have JUST exceeded 30,000 visitors.

And in all that time I've had ONE good show.

This is not good.

The Best Review Ever.

My third group was a bunch of precocious 4 year olds. They already knew EVERYTHING I was about to tell them. Normally I would be really annoyed by this, but at this point in the day, I let them run with it.

I would introduce a planet, and they would all scream the name back at me, and then tell me things they knew about it. I can't believe how well it worked.

"This is Venus!" I would say. "YAY, VENUS!! VENUS!!" they would all shout.

"It's hot!" one kid would yell.

"That's right," I'd assure him unnecessarily. "What else...?"

"It's got poisonous clouds!!" another kid would shout.

"Great! What else...?"


We'd do about 4 or 5 basic facts, and then I'd move onto the next planet. It's a cool concept, but for most groups it would never work -- somehow they all stayed on task, appropriately, and each took turns in the dark. That never works! I'm still not sure how it did this time.

They were good, too. I was pointing out a couple constellations -- Leo, Cygnus, Scorpio -- and I said at one point, "This next one is a pretend animal."

Without more than a second delay, one four year old shouted, "Draco the Dragon!!" I hadn't even pointed the part of the sky, yet! It was like they had read the script.

So, I didn't end up teaching them ANYTHING, but I apparently was able to let them reinforce the stuff they already knew, so I can't complain.

At the end I always do a Q&A, and I said, "It seems that you guys already know everything I could tell you, but if anyone has any questions or comments, this is the time for that."

One kid raised his hand and said, "I just want to say: this was cooler than myself."

I'll take that as a compliment!

An Old Pro.

The first group, 45 minutes late, got out of the dome a little later than normal. And, of course, the SECOND group showed up 20 minutes early. So the usual mad cluster of hallway destruction followed.

Here's what made it worse: the 11:00 show had 3 classes. Two went in the main entrance (the right way), and the third went in a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT entrance at the end of the building (the WRONG way), so they were coming at me from two directions at once.

The teacher of the third group was all smiles and giggles as I asked, "WHY didn't you stay with the group?!?!" I was already pissed at the earlier group and grouchy that I had to come back and actually do work after 10 days off.

She sensed my irritation and got all sorts of indignant, "I went here for TEN YEARS, I KNOW MY WAY AROUND, and I decided to go the OTHER way."

I described how it made everything much worse in the hallway. "Well, it doesn't matter now... you guys can just go in."

"Well, where do we go in?" she asked me, in a snotty voice.

I almost killed her. My brain was screaming "WELL, MISS-BEEN-HERE-TEN-YEARS, you should know already, EH?" Followed by, "MAYBE THE OPEN DOOR I AM FREAKING POINTING AT, MORON!!!"

What I actually said was, "Right there. Thank you. Enjoy."


Anyone know where I can purchase a fresh set of testicles? I think mine have worn out.

What a Comeback.

Ah, it's so great to be back. 10 whole days without screaming kids (for the most part); I am so refreshed and happy.

[The editors would like to apologize for the fraudulent nature of the above sentence(s).]

I get back here, and the first show this morning was FORTY FIVE MINUTES LATE. They were noisy preschoolers who didn't care about much anyway, so it was fine that they only got a 15 minute show. Most of it was just showing the video of the Mars Exploration Rover that I use in most programs. And that way I didn't have to talk.

As the rocket was taking of one girl asked, "Is that a bomb?"

I assured her that it was not.

When the first booster rockets separated, she asked, "Is THAT a bomb?"

I told her that it was the SAME rocket, and it still was not a bomb.

The next separation occurred -- "Whoa! Is that a bomb?"

"Still. Not. A. Bomb." I said.

"It looks like a bomb," she told me.


I wish I had a bomb right about now.

Well, it's been about 6000 people since I've had some real time off, and I am a hurting unit. I think I am getting sick (hoping it's just allergies), and I am so terribly beat down.

Tomorrow begins ten days of Astronomy-free living. I will be away from computers for that whole time. I just wanted to warn you all of an impending lack of Bloggery.

See you on the other side...

Lack of Communication Skills.

A group just stood me up. It happens. Not a LOT, but sometimes. I was surprised this time, since it was someone related to the college. So, I called the school to find out what the deal was... I might have a mistake on my schedule.

"Hello?" the school receptionist answered.

I asked if this was the school which I was trying to contact.

"Yeah," she told me.

I asked for the teacher responsible for the trip.

"She in class," I was told.

"OK," I said. "Maybe you could help me. This is the main office?"

"Yeah," she said.

"OK, I had her on my schedule for a Planetarium trip today. Do you know of any classes that were supposed to go to a Planetarium today or any other day close to today?" I asked.

"Planetarium?" she asked.

"Right," I said.

"Trip?" she asked.

"Exactly. Planetarium trip," I said.

"I don't know nothin bout no Planetarium trip," she told me.

"I see," I said. "Well, do you know when a good time to speak with the teacher might be?"

"After school," the woman told me.

"Right," I said, "When does she get out of class?"

"Oh, she got class all afternoon," she said.

"I see. What time does she get out of class?" I asked.

"Regular time," she told me. She started sounding really pissed off.

"Would that be 3:00? 4:00? 5:00?" I asked.

"What you think this is? This is regular school." she said.

"Right. So what time does a regular school get done?" I asked.

"Three. Uh. Clock." she said it slow, big pause between words, as if I had a learning, or perhaps hearing, disability.

"Thanks."

I don't even think I'm going to bother to call back.

A Show and a Meal.

I had some third graders come through today. I have never been so happy to see this age group. They were older than FOUR! And that's all I've seen for most of the week.

They were OK, and I actually went and did a bunch of stuff with them -- it was a chock-full program; it was actually a bit longer than an hour, even.

They had brought their lunches, which is rather different. I think they planned on eating outside, but it was quite stormy.

Anyway, I really didn't have time to answer questions, so I did something stupid. I will NEVER forgive myself for this -- I said:

"Listen -- I need to reset the machine for the next program, but that just takes me a few minutes. Tell you what, I'll do that, and I'll grab a bite to eat and meet you all in the cafe, and I'll answer questions over lunch."

If my own brain could punch me, it would have. "HEY, STUPID!! You have a few minutes between programs and you have decided to spend it with 3rd graders!! YOU DON'T LIKE KIDS!!!"

I really don't know what my problem is.

So, I grabbed a salad, tossed some balsamic vinegar on it, and went and sat amongst the 3rd graders. Most of them had questions about 'your anus' which, honestly, is a joke that NEVER gets old (sarcasm, sarcasm).

But it wasn't anything too horrible. A couple kids decided to chew on things and then show it to their friends. Some combined foods in odd new ways, which was also a little tummy-churning, but not too bad.

They were getting ready to leave, and I was finally ready to go on with my life when one of the kids said, "My YU-GI-OH cards!!"

"What about them?" a teacher asked.

"I think I tossed them away accidentally!" he told her.

"We are NOT going through the garbage for them," she told him. Good girl, I thought.

He started to whine and pout, said they were in a zippy bag, he just needed to get them back. And then she asked which garbage can he dumped it into. He pointed it out, and it was right next to where I was still sitting. I decided to be a nice guy and I took the cover off so he could look in.

He looked in.

"I don't see them!" he moaned. He looked in a lot of pain. He glanced at me, and glanced down at the garbage can. He was seriously about to cry.

The garbage cans are rather large. He was too short to actually reach in a sift through the garbage.

So, I shook my head, handed the garbage top to him and plunged in up to my elbows sorting through mostly-eaten third-grader detritus.

My hand clasped a zippy bag with the shape of a deck of playing cards in it. I shook off the bread crusts, partially eaten fruit roll-ups, and various cold cuts, and handed the bag to him. He accepted it with glee, and they left.

Just when I think I have done it all, I sift through garbage.

This must be why we sell out shows -- it has nothing to do with the actual quality of the program, it's the word of mouth telling of the lengths I will go to make people happy -- "You should go to the Planetarium. I have no idea if he is a good astronomer, but he'll fish stuff out of the garbage for you!"

SSSKKKKKQQQQQRRRRREEEEEEEEHHHHKKK

TWO DAYS IN A ROW I have had to deal with shrieking children. SHRIEKING! Just from seeing the laser pointer on the ceiling. I would try to point out something, and the 4 year olds would shriek at the top of their lungs. You really haven't lived until you've heard 45 four-year-olds shriek in unison. ESPECIALLY if it is in a dome-shaped room that focuses and reverbates the sound directly into your brain.

Owch.

SO, I had to try to do the program without being able to show the kids what I was talking about. "There's a constellation up there in the shape of a lion. Try to find it, since I can't point it out to you! Good luck!"

I have no idea how parents deal with that sound. If I ever had a kid, the first time I heard that sound, I would take that child back and ask for a replacement. "I'm sorry, this child is broken. I need one that doesn't make a sound like rusty nails on broken glass on a chalkboard. Thank you."

It was the most horrible noise I have ever heard.

So I skimmed through the program... I just touched on most of the points I usually do -- showed some constellations, planets, two short films, and they were gone in 40 minutes.

As they were leaving, one of the teachers came up to me as told me, "Wow! That was great! You are SO GOOD with the kids!"

Two thoughts raced through my mind at the same instant:

1. I would really like to choke this person to death right now.
   
2. What would have been consider a BAD interaction with the kids?!? Swinging like monkeys from the machine, and urinating on it??
   

Hell week (month) continues.

I have not posted in a day or two because it's been way too crazy around here. THANK (insert chosen deity here) THAT I ONLY HAVE ONE MORE DAY OF THIS.

Of course that day will be filled with 4 shows, filled with tiny little children, and broken up with an ultra-conservative Christian group that won't let me talk about things more than 6,000 years old.

My brain is in pain.

Fall down, go boom.

I turned on the machine yesterday morning, and a few moments later, there was a pop, a fizzle, another sound I can't really describe, and, all of a sudden -- NO STARS. The stars were gone.

The stars are kind of a pretty important part of my presentation, seeing as I work in a Planetarium. One of the MOST important things. It's sort of the hook that gets people into it -- that dome covered with thousands of stars.

And now I must clarify -- only half the stars were gone -- the Northern Hemisphere. As I live in the Northern Hemisphere, and discuss stars mainly seen in the Northern Hemisphere, this was a problem.

Occasionally, we will blow a bulb in the machine. It happens. I had a bad feeling about this one, though. And, as I removed the mechanism that holds the bulb, I could immediately tell that the bulb was intact.

The socket it sits in was not.

The socket has a base made of ceramic -- the bulb itself is a 500 watt bulb that is approximately the size of your pinky. It's a dinky little bulb that gets REALLY hot. REALLY hot. Too hot for a metal socket. The ceramic won't melt.

But apparently, after 32 years of getting hot then cold then hot then cold then hot then cold, it will explode.

I switched the Southern Hemisphere and the Northern Hemisphere sockets so I could at least talk about SOME of the sky... well, MOST of the sky. But about 1/3 of the sky is missing. Ugh.

Yesterday was not a good day.

The machine is dying. **--sigh--** The school probably won't buy a new one -- they start in the neighborhood of $500,000.

HEY! If any of the Blog readers have $500,000, we could use that here in the Planetarium!! We will NAME THE PLANETARIUM AFTER YOU!! Imagine it!! The [insert your name] Planetarium!! And free admission to every show we will ever do.

At $5 a ticket, you only need to attend 100,000 shows, and it pays for itself!

Thank you, mysterious benefactor, in advance, for your help.

Photographic evidence.

HEY! I can post pictures!! So now I can provide some photographic proof of some of the incidents. I must just drag my digital camera everywhere.

As a test, here's a pic I took from ON STAGE (my first stage performance...it was pretty groovy), and showing 3-d pictures of the surface of Mars.




Don't they look excited??

Lost.

I just got done with the third show of the day. I am grumpy and tired, and not looking forward to the rest of the week. Four shows, every day. My calves are currently screaming at me, since I am unable, apparently, to sit when I talk. I TRY! I tell myself, "Self, sit down when you talk. You're going to kill your legs." So I sit on the tall stool I SPECIFICALLY got to get me to sit more. I get yammering, and all of a sudden I notice I am ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE STINKING ROOM! Standing up! What the heck? I don't even notice it.

Anyway, that was a totally tangential rant. My brain is a little frazzled. Sorry.

I got done with the third show, and the main guy who set it up asked me, "Can you help me get back to the bus?"

"Isn't it right up at the top of the hill?" I asked him.

"No. We walked up a hill. And we got totally lost."

"Do you know what lot you were in?" I asked.

"No," he told me.

"Do you remember what direction you came from?" I asked.

"No," he told me.

"Do you remember anything that might help me help you find you bus?"

"Not really," he said.

"So the bus is in the wrong place. Some mysterious place."

"Basically," he said.

"Then I really don't think I can help you find it."


We wandered around campus for a while. I saw some bus-yellow through a tree and sent them off in that direction. I think they made it -- I haven't heard anything back about possible lost children.


It's going to be a long week.

Haunting me some more.

Ah, the wonder of a birthday party. A couple months ago, I complained about the craziest birthday party ever.

Apparently, the mother was so happy, she decided to tell the world about how great an idea it was! There is a website called "Birthday Party Ideas".

At least it won an honorable mention award.


See?? I don't make this stuff up!

Odd Ingredient.

I have been showing the CGI video of the Mars Exploration Rovers for almost a year now, it seems. It has provided much Blog fodder.

Part of the video shows the rover drilling into a Mars rock, and then a microscope views the inside of the Mars rock. I mention that this can tell us a lot about what the rocks are made of.

Here is a still from that moment of the video:


I had a fifth grade class today. When that image came on one of them told me, "Apparently THAT rock is made of cows."

It was quite funny.

Still too small.

I know 83% of my Blogs are whining about how the kids are too young for me to cope with. And I know that 60% of those Blogs start with me reminding you all that 83% of my Blogs are whining about how the kids are too young for me to cope with.

This one is one of those Blogs.

Last week was a zoo around here, so this actually happened during the middle of last week.

They were nursery school kids, so they arrive in separate cars. I let some of them in and went out to wait for the rest. When I came back, the kids were all singing "It's a Small World After All." Normally this is a terribly annoying song. But at least it has a couple lines, and eventually the melody resolves itself. NOT THIS TIME: this kids were merely singing the melody of the first line OVER AND OVER. Usually, the song 'ends' at "It's a small, small world." These kids never got off the first line. It was mind numbing. I thought I was being brainwashed for a cult.

As I was standing in the doorway concentrating on not having an aneurysm, a late arriving child blew past my legs and ran into the room. He stopped short and turned around to who I believe to be his mother, who was standing right behind me, and said "HEY! You lied to me!"

I thought he was talking to me!!

"I did?" I asked him. "I don't think I said anything!" I was worried that I WAS being brainwashed!

"He's talking to me, I think," said a voice behind me, the mother.

The kid continued, squealing, "There's no stars on the ceiling!! You said there's be stars on the ceiling!"

"There will be," his mother told him. I nodded in agreement. He still seemed dissatisfied.


I began the program, and some stars started appearing. Sometimes I ask in the middle of the darkening room, "How many stars do you see?" It's obviously uncountable, they are all over the room, and more are appearing every second, but it's fun to hear people try. I use it on the older kids, they know it's a joke, they laugh a little and we move on. I asked this time, and the answer was one kid yelling, "Ten-twenty-four!"

Oh, good. The kids don't even know how to count yet. I love it when I have people in my planetarium that use numbers like "eighty-hundred".

"Ten-twenty-four," I repeated it back to them. "Yeah. That's about right." I was not looking forward to rest of the program.


A lot of the little kid programs discuss how you can't live on other planets or the moon. We were talking about the moon, and I told them that "There is some things we need to live. The moon is missing something, which makes it so we can't live there. Does anyone know what that is?"

Usually I hear "air" or "water" pretty quickly. But there was a long pause this time. About a minute passed, and I was about to let them all off the hook when a kid tried, "...Ba... Ba... Bathrooms?"

I gave up. "True!" I told him. "No bathrooms! Anything else missing??"

Now the kids got into it... they all came up with their own ideas. And I let them go for a while.

"Beds!"
"Forks!"
"Cookies!"
"Swings!"
"Milk!"
"Dogs!"

The teachers tried to shush them after a while but I didn't care.

It actually really made me think about things for a minute. It is likely that this was a list of things those kids consider necessary. There is a quality of life issue here, that these kids have a greater concern for.

Sure there's no air on the moon, but who cares even if there is air if you can't have a dog, and an occasional cookie?! Point well taken, little ones.

Busy.

Over the past 5 weeks here: 2,639 visitors. Yipes.

Working Overtime.

I had a program yesterday afternoon that was supposed to start at 4:30. It was 80 girl scouts coming from a variety of places, so there was no way in the remotest places of hell that we could have started on time. It was remarkably close, but I did start about 5 minutes late.

It was a great program -- the kids were really having a nice time, and dare I say, even learning a few things.

I was getting to the very end, and I was reprising all the slides in an obvious summary when I hear a shrill parent voice say:

"IT'S 5:35!!!"

I stopped for a second in horror of the rudeness. I did notice also that the screeching was coming out of one of the parents that came in last. I recovered quickly, and continued with the last minute of the review in an obvious attempt to ignore the squealer. I was getting very close to the end, when --

"NOW IT'S 5:37!!!"

I just turned to her general area and told her, "You may leave. The door is open."

"Well I don't want to MISS ANYTHING," she told me in what I can only describe as the snottiest tone of voice I have ever heard. I thought, She needs to die. Would any jury convict me?

"Then quit yer bit---" I stopped, but was incredibly close to telling a patron to 'quit her bitchin'. I recovered and said, "Then stop complaining. It's not helping me go any faster."

I hate sounding cynical, of sorts, but I am really astonished at the rudeness of the world.

Today: A Very Special Mr. Astronomy Guy

I had a group of second graders first thing this morning. The reservation request form which came for this group had written on it the following:
"A star was purchased in honor of a little girl in our second grade who died in December... please show children location of that star."

A lot of people ask me about the International Star Registry or the Universal Star Council. The question is usually "Is this real?" Of course it's 'real'. But a lot of people think they will get a nice bright star up there. The star you get will no doubt be invisible to the naked eye.

But it can be a very sweet, lasting sentimental gift. It's a nice idea for someone who will enjoy it.

I am not a very sentimental or even serious person. The Planetarium is a fun place. I don't want to have to talk about a deceased child. I'm not insensitive, I'm just not outwardly emotional. I told the teacher that our projector wouldn't show the star they wanted to see. She really wanted them to see it. "Besides," she told me, "the girl's mother and twin brother are here, and I told them we would see it."

Ohmigod, I thought. It just got a lot worse.

"All right," I told her. "Show me the star charts."

Of course, it was in Cancer. Why is that a problem? Because that is the constellation with the dimmest stars. IT basically IS THE HARDEST OF ALL CONSTELLATIONS TO FIND. So I get to try to show them the general vicinity of an invisible star amongst a bunch of near-invisible stars, AND show it to a mother and son who have recently lost a daughter/sister.

I was feeling a little churny about the whole thing.

The show began in earnest and enjoyment as it always does. I showed them the moon and some constellations. I had just got done talking about Leo, the last of the constellations I had planned to discuss. Right in front of Leo is the region of Cancer, so it was a natural segue into talking about the little girl's star.

I had no idea what to say. It was quiet for almost a full minute.

I took a deep breath.

"I know that there is a star you want to see. You guys had a classmate named Caroline, and she has a star in her honor. It's just hers, and it will be there forever." I showed them the bright stars of Leo, and the bright star of Gemini -- Cancer splits the difference. "Right here is Cancer. And right between these two dims stars, is her star. Though you can't see the star up on the dome, you can be sure it's there. And will be there forever."

Silence. There wasn't even a breath. I didn't ask for a moment of silence or anything, I couldn't have possible managed to get the words out, and I didn't KNOW the girl. It just spontaneously happened.

After an extremely long moment (it was probably shorter than it seemed), I went on. But the air had been sucked out of the program. I didn't even feel like making my usual jokes. I made it through the end of the show, but I was just hoping I'd never need to do something like that again. I have enough trouble doing light-hearted shows, at this point, anything of a serious note is WAY too much.

At the end of the show, the teacher thanked me for everything. She seemed happy, and that was a good thing, at least. She then reminded me, "The rest of the 2nd grade will be here next week. Make sure you show them the star, too."

I'll try.

Still hurting.

Ouch. This is the third day in a row with 4 shows per day. I will see nearly 300 people JUST TODAY. My brain, sides, neck, and ass all hurt in their own special ways.

I'll try to catch up on some stories before show #4 for today...

Never mind.

I just came in to jot down a couple quick Blogs about the hearing impaired kids I had yesterday, the 4 year olds that continue to drive me crazy, and a nifty show of 5th graders.

HOWEVER, the kids from the show that is starting in a HALF HOUR have already begun to arrive. Those Blogs will have wait. Maybe tomorrow.

So I guess I have to go out and be Mr. Greeter-Man before I have to be Mr. Astronomy Guy.

This week is crazy. 4 shows a day. No time to sit. My back, throat and legs are killing me.

Sorry, there's not much to laugh at here!

Bleah.

Complete Ignorance.

I have to run a quick Blog of a group of 4 year olds I had last week. Setting the stage: there were 28 kids and 3 adults.

When I present for a group of this age, you have to do some Q&A during the show. You ask them questions that you are sure they will know the answer to, they all get to participate, they pay attention, and it builds their intelligence esteem.

So, I started with my discussion of the North Star, and began to talk about Ursa Minor.



I told them we were going to see a little bear and asked, "You guys know what a bear is, right??" Usually the response is a resounding "YES!!"

This time, just a couple kids responded, and they said, "No."

NO?!? Maybe they just misheard. "It's a bear! Big fuzzy guy. Lives in the forest. You know... a bear?"

They all chimed in this time, "NO!!"

That was odd. Usually, by this age, they've heard of a bear. I guess they haven't talked about animals much in the nursery school. "That's OK," I said. "He's a pretty funny looking bear, anyway. To me, he looks more like a squirrel!" I usually get a little giggle here. Kids laugh at squirrels. Not this time. "You guess know what a squirrel is, right?!?"

"NO!!!" They all responded.

Weird. I think they really just had no idea what they were saying. A couple kids said "no" the first time. So I think they just kept doing it. That was how it went for the entire show.

I figured I was safe when I got to Canis Major -- "You guys know what a dog is, right??"

"NO!!" They all told me.

I gave up after that. The next that I was going to show was Taurus. If they claim they don't know "dog", there's no way they will know "bull". I skipped Leo altogether.

I really don't like little kids.

Sasquatch.

I had a road show last Friday night. It was a big crowd (over 100 -- hey! That's a lot for me!). It was for the Chatham area boy scouts, and about 70 of the attendees were actual scouts. The rest were parents and younger siblings.

I was supposed to begin around 7:15 or 7:30, but the scout leaders didn't get done yapping until about 8:00. I tried to keep it short, but I am a verbose person, by nature. Sorry.

It was in a hall connected to a church. OH! And there was a stage! I never worked on stage before. It's pretty cool, actually. I am quite sure I want to be a rock star when I grow up.

The room itself was a public-speaking nightmare. It was basically a box. Any whisper across the room sounded like Chewbacca was screaming in your ear. I think if someone had sneezed, we would have blown all the windows out. So, as I was trying to speaking, the murmur of the crowd was deafening and disruptive.

But nothing was as disruptive as Sasquatch. I also refer to him as leadfoot. He was a 3-year old kid, who just ran back and forth through the room, basically the whole time. Most of his running took place before I started speaking, but it horrified me as I was waiting to perform. Every one of his steps was like a gunshot.

SO, you could only understand every other word of anyone who was speaking... "Good eve*--boom--*, everyone. Hope you ar*--boom--* having a *--boom--* night. Now, we a*--boom--* to hand *--boom--* out the badge*--boom--* that the *--boom--*y scouts hav*--boom--* earned."

It was pretty horrible. And, about 20 feet behind Sasquatch was his father, meandering slowly behind, but doing nothing to stop the cacophony.

There was all sorts of noise during my presentation, and the scout leaders kept issuing "HUSH"es at the scouts. The leaders were directing their scolding at the wrong audience. It was the ADULTS who were being constantly disrespectful! The kids were really paying attention, the adults were using this time to catch up on each others' life stories.

Really the show wasn't too bad, except for the fact that my throat was pretty burnt by the end.

I just did a count of the people reserved for May. The count: 3070. Previous record: an ass-wrenching 2168.

I am fairly certain that I will not survive.

I am off to go cry in the corner for a little while before the Boy Scouts get here.

Did anyone bring a snack?

I just did 3 shows, back-to-back of ALL little tiny kids -- most were 4 years old. They really weren't that bad for this age group, but I just don't like small children, well-behaved or otherwise.

At least there was no vomiting today.

At the end of the last show I was doing my usual question and answer session. When the 4 year olds ask a question, often the shy ones talk very quietly. In this case, there was a girl in the second row talking so low, I could not hear her. So, as I need to do sometimes, I leaned over a kid in the front row to hear what she had to ask. I forget what the question was, but as she was asking it, I heard one of the teachers yell out:

"Tyler! Spit that out!!"

I looked around to see what Tyler had eaten. I didn't have to look far -- just straight down. Tyler was the kid I was leaning over, and he had about 3 inches of my tie in his mouth and was chewing furiously. The kid was EATING MY TIE! I'm pretty sure he is part goat.

HEY!

I just passed my Blogaversary! Over one year of Blogs! It has gone by quickly. I'm amazed that I am still doing it. Most of the blogs I check have 1 or 2 entries, and then seem to have died.

Thanks for reading. I shall try to keep it up.

What the Chuck?

Third program for the day: A group of pre-Kindergarten kids. All of them were 4 years old. They seemed like they might be a decent group... I asked them what they should do in the halls, and one kid raised his hand and told me, "Zip it up!" That was exactly right! So, I told the group to all "zip it up!" and we went into the Planetarium.

They were relatively quiet as we got going. I turned the lights off, and we got to talking about the moon.

Then, one kid yelled out the sentence I had hoped I would never hear: "I'm going to throw up!"

It was followed by a sound I refuse to describe, but I'm sure you can imagine it.

I turned the twilight, moon glow, red floor lights, and a couple big slides on to give us some light. The kid had succeeded in getting 40% of the vomit on his own shirt, 40% on the floor, and the other 20% on the chair. (NO, I didn't measure it exactly. These are rough estimates made in a moment of panic, just for ambiance.)

One of the teachers left the room immediately, which I thought odd. I'm not sure where she was going. Another teacher was tending to the kid -- trying to get his shirt off while keeping the majority of the upchuck on the shirt and off the boy. She asked, "Do you have some paper towels?"

I was way ahead of her. I had grabbed a roll from behind the control panel, and was holding them out to her as I told her, "Yes, I do."

"Oh, good!" she said. And then she left with the kid.

Apparently she was glad that I had paper towels for my own sake.

Let me take a little snapshot of what is happening at this moment. The teachers have left the room. I am there with 29 four year olds who have realized that one of their friends has vomited, and that there is no show currently going on, so they all start climbing all over the seats. I am hunched over a pile of puke in the near dark with college-grade paper towels (think extra-thick tissues).

"WAKE UP!" I screamed inside my own brain. "Ohmigod, please, please, PLEASE wake up." But, alas, this was no dream. I don't think I've ever had a Planetarium nightmare this bad, anyway; I should have known immediately that it was real.

I cleaned up the cookie-toss in the dark as best I could, and sort of zipped through a show. The kids were all completely lost by the time I got back to any actual information. How can I compete with an actual up-chuck?? Once someone blows chunks, you can pretty much cancel the rest of the program.


Apparently, there is an epilogue to this -- they first teacher who went out went to call the boy's mother, to have her come pick him up. The mother said 'no'. She said that she had a 9-year-old at home with an ear infection, and couldn't go out. It seems that the head of the preschool came and got the boy. I'm not sure what she did with him.


I can't say that I've had a good day.

The class commenter.

Show number 2 was a group of second graders. There was one girl in there, sitting right next to the control panel, who had something to say about just about everything. It was odd, because nobody else seemed to notice she was saying anything at all. The rest of the group was real quiet. No students laughed. No teachers shushed her. It was like she was making these comments for me only. It was quite odd. And the comments weren't your classic 2nd grade fare. It's difficult to describe, really...

I put up a picture of Orion, and she said, "Whoa. He's creeping me out. He looks Russian."

What does that mean?

During the Mars Rover information, she had a bunch of things to say...

When some of the booster rockets fell off she said, "Whoa. If one of those falls onto some guy's house, that guy would be bummed out."

I silently agreed.

When the landing pod opened up to reveal the Mars Rover itself, she starting quietly singing "Happy Birthday" to it.

I thought it a nice sentiment.

When the Rover started moving, she mentioned, "It's roverskating!"

I have no idea why, but that cracked me up.


The odd thing: She really wasn't bothering me a bit with the things she was saying. Normally, when someone is making comments, I am just terribly annoyed. I was actually amused, and pleased that she was paying attention, and absorbing stuff so quickly that she could make some unique comment about it. And she never stepped on my lines; she was quietly saying stuff in my down time.

Is it raining in here?

What a day. 3 back to back shows.

The first one showed up way too early, but I jumped out and got things going. It was a pretty good group, really. It was a fifth grade class.

At the end, I asked if there was any questions (most of my loyal readers are familiar with this part).

One kid in the front row raised his hand. I gave him a point and a nod, indicating that he should let me know his question...

"Do you know you spit on me?" he said.

"'scuse me?" I responded.

"You spit on me. Seriously."

"I don't think so," I said.

Now I realize I do get all wired up during a show. But saliva does not fly out of my mouth, so far as I know.

"No, seriously," he told me. "You were yelling something about the moon, I think, and a piece of spit hit me right in the neck."

"I guess I might have. I didn't mean it," I said.

"I know it," he told me, sincerely. "I just wondered if you knew you did it."

"I didn't!" I said. "I had no idea. Sorry, man." I really said 'sorry, man' to a 5th grader.

"Don't worry. I just wanted to let you now." He really didn't seem upset at all.

I guess I'll have to calm down the shows a little -- at least the moments where I start to froth up.

Go into the Light. There is Peace and Serenity in the Light.

Last Friday there was a small group of cub scouts -- 2nd grade. There was 9 of them, and 6 adults. A small group, to be sure; basically not worth staying late on a Friday night for. (That sentence feels grammatically icky for some reason, but I'm leaving it. Sorry.) As long as they are enthusiastic about the trip, and cooperative during the program, it's not bad, and makes it feel worth while.

Of course, that was not to be.

A few moments into the program, as I was talking about the moon, one of the kids lit up. He just started to glow. It was rather disconcerting! I realized soon enough that he had brought a flashlight. A FLASHLIGHT! Into my Planetarium. I figured he had his little fun with it, and then would give up.

But, alas, I was so wrong.



This was a plastic flashlight -- I guess I would call it "regular" sized. Probably something that took 2 "C" sized batteries. As I was talking about stuff, he would turn it on for a few moments, shine it around the room, and then turn it off. I just kept hoping he would get bored with it and stop. I should mention that he was sitting next to his mother. She had nothing to say.

The camel-back-breaking-straw was when he decided to shine it right in my face.

"I realize that's fun," I told him nicely, "but it makes it a little hard for the rest of us to see when you turn on the flashlight. If you could stop turning it on in here that would be great. Thanks."

I could have said it in a much more sarcastic tone than I actually did. I was actually very nice about it. I should have ripped it out of his hands and slammed him over the head with it. But I didn't. I asked nicely.

His mother then told me, "But it's his flashlight!" She sounded completely pissed off that I would ask her kid to not disrupt the rest of the room.

"I'm not taking away from him. I just need him to not use it in the dark. It ruins the night vision of all of us in the room." I was flabbergasted.

Her response: "But he likes playing with it!!"

What the...? This was not a kid with any mental deficiency, he was just a regular 7 year old kid! Apparently mom lets this kid do ANYTHING he LIKES to do!!

The rest of the show was very subdued. It was as if the rest of them were pissed off that I asked him to turn off his flashlight, too.

The showed ended, they said muted, 'Thank you's and left.

There's been a lot of talk lately about Sedna, that little doodad way out there in the Solar System. I even blogged a little whiny blog as people were calling it a planet.

I just had a group of Girl Scouts, and we did mention that we are planning a mission to Pluto, and that it would take at least ten years to get there. One girl, at the end, asked me about going to Sedna... and I told her that Sedna was 4 times further away from the sun than Pluto, and suggested that the distance was too great to reasonably send something out there to check it out. She didn't seem to get it, so I tried to give her a little perspective...

"How old are you?" I asked her.

"Nine," she told me.

"Well, if we packed you up into a spacecraft and sent you off to Sedna, you be FORTY-EIGHT when you got there!"

"Wow," she said, "If my mother is still alive then, I'll be older than her!"

Their First Taste of Continuing Education

Yesterday I had some 3rd graders come for a program. Right inside the door is a row of chairs. In one of the chairs, a student was sleeping -- he was sitting legs stretched out, head flung way back, mouth open. It was obvious he was asleep. It was, of course, the first thing the 3rd graders noticed. They were all buzzing about it on the way in -- "Did you see the sleeping guy?" "That guy was just sleeping in the hallway!"

I did my signature Planetarium performance. I thought it went well... they seemed to be engaged and well-behaved.

The group needed to get the buses back, so they had some time constraints. This is always nice, because sometimes the Q & A part of the show goes on for a LONG time. This time, it was 1:19, and they needed to leave at 1:20. I asked the teachers if there was time for any questions -- one told me that we could do TWO questions. Cool.

One kids had an excited arm outstretched, with the hand fluttering back and forth like a leaf in the wind. If I didn't call on him, I was afraid that his arm might actually fly off, and zip around the room. "What's your question?" I prompted him.

"Why was that guy sleeping out in the hallway?"

Hmmm. Apparently he had been sitting there the whole time just thinking about the sleeping guy. It was like this show, chock full of cool and exciting astronomy, never occurred.

"Umm," I said, "I guess he was tired."

"Oh," the kid said.

"OK, I can take one more question," I told them.

An intelligent looking girl on the other side of the room had her hand politely up. I decided that she would have something related to what we just did, so I called on her.

"Why was he so tired?" she asked.

"**--sigh--** I'm not sure. I guess he's just been working hard," I said.

"Oh," she said, eyes wide. "Is college that hard?!" She sounded quite concerned.

"It can be," I told her. "For the students and the teachers."

Last weekend I had some public shows. At the end of the first show, after everyone else had gone, there was one family in the hallway...

I wasn't going to Blog about this -- it's certainly not a funny incident -- but it's been bouncing around my brain, and it seems the only way I can dump this stuff out of my brain is to Blog it.

...Anyway, the father-figure of the family came up to me and told me, "That was a really great show. We had a very nice time..."

As he was talking, I could tell there was something on his mind. He had a sort of wistful melancholy about him.

He continued on about the things he liked about the program, and went on to say, "I just had to tell you -- One of my best friends in the world died a couple years back. He was a great guy, very dynamic. I miss him a lot. He was unique, and had a unique way of speaking. Your presentation style is exactly like his. Your voice, the way you vary your volume and tempo -- it was exactly like his. A couple times I just closed my eyes and it was like he was right there."

What do you say to something like that? I'm not even sure how I felt... flattered? honored? I certainly never had anyone mention anything like that before.

That Sinking Feeling

I should be doing some work -- I am currently writing our newsletter. It's about 2 and half months late, so I really can't afford to jump over to here and jot down even this quick message, but I had to do it. It's been a crazy day filled with awful children, so I'm having trouble focusing on work, anyway.

The Planetarium has been crazy busy -- I've mentioned that. It's really been insane. I keep getting the dreaded birthday party calls, but now it's almost fun, because most of my weekends are already spoken for. The mean streak in me enjoys listening to the crushed tone in their voice when I tell them the situation. I just had a call from a bubbly Dad... usually it's Mom who calls, so this was a little different...

"Hey there," Bubbly Dad said. "My kid is going to be turning seven and he would love a birthday party at the Planetarium! You do birthday parties, right?"

My new line is: "You can reserve the Planetarium for a private show." This always confuses them.

"But do you do birthday parties??" he asked.

I hate 'doing birthday parties'. I don't 'do' birthday parties. I put on my most serious businessman voice and told him, "You can reserve the Planetarium for a private function. What that function is for is up to you."

I won't say it anymore -- I refuse to say 'Yes, we do birthday parties.' I really can't tell them 'No', but that doesn't mean I have to say 'Yes.'

"So, what about birthday parties?" he asked.

My sarcastic, evil personality drifts in at this point, "What about them?" I'm kind of having fun at this point.

"Do you do them?" he asks, obviously confused.

You can't make me say it!! "One can reserve the facility for a group."

"Like a birthday party?" he asked.

Nice try! This felt like a skit on Whose Line is it Anyway? "Any private function, really."

He just got real quiet for a little while. Eventually I think he kind of got it, when he asked, "OK, good! Because my kid loves Astrology!"

I know I am a pedantic bastard for this, but as soon as he said that his kid loves Astrology I was looking forward to dashing his hopes and dreams. Astrology. Sheesh.

"You mean astronomy?" I asked him in a disgusted tone.

"I guess so," he said. Oh, my. "So can we reserve a spot on the last Saturday in April? The 24th?"

I immediately perked up. "You were looking for a Saturday?" I said.

"Yeah," he replied.

"The next Saturday I have available is in August," I told him. It's true!

There was an odd sort of snorting noise on the other end of the line; it sounded like he was choking on a jellybean.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

I thought it was obvious, but I explained it to him: "We're filled up. Every available Saturday between now and August has at least 3 shows scheduled. That's all I can do in a day. We're filled up until August."

"What about April 24th?" He wasn't getting it.

"That day, too," I told him. I had the urge to twist the knife and add, "...especially that day." But I figured that I'd already slapped him in the face hard enough.

"Oh," he said, obviously crushed. I wonder if he had already promised his kid the astronomy party?! Yipes.

I couldn't help it -- I said, "Hey, maybe next year. Be sure to book it early!"